


The Absolute End

by dumbledearme



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Dumbledearme, Female Apprentice, Original Character - Freeform, Sol Chamak - Freeform, dfcrose, ilya - Freeform, nix hydra, the arcana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbledearme/pseuds/dumbledearme
Summary: Retelling of The Arcana with my MC, Sol Chamak. Instead of choosing one of the paths, I'll mix things up a bit and tell all three at the same time. Plot twist though: my apprentice is blind. That is possibly the evilest thing I ever did to a person since I'm depriving her the pleasure of looking at all these good-looking characters.Oh well.





	The Absolute End

**Author's Note:**

> "The moment man devoured the fruit of knowledge, he sealed his fate...  
> Entrusting his future to the cards, man clings to a dim hope.  
> Yet, the Arcana is the means by which all is revealed...  
> Beyond the beaten path lies the absolute end.  
> It matters not who you are... Death awaits you."

“I’ll miss you.”

His voice was heavy with sincerity. That wasn’t anything new. Asra had always meant his words, even when he spoke in riddles or when he avoided telling her everything—which was all the freaking time. He probably had a hundred secrets hidden in that marvelous mind of his, but he was no liar. Of that, Sol was sure of. 

The fact that he was leaving again wasn’t anything new either. He was a wanderer, a free spirit, and nothing could keep him anywhere for long. There was a time when Sol hoped perhaps she could change that part of him, that she could inspire him into loving her enough to stay, only to quickly realize that people didn’t change. And that she had no right to wish for that either way. Asra was family—the only family she had and would ever have—and Sol loved him the way he was and would keep on loving him no matter how many times he would hurt her with his absence. 

It wasn’t hard being alone. Her magic was strong enough now that she no longer wished for sight. She could feel the atmosphere around her and it served as a true, reliable guide. It no longer felt like everything was a threat, a danger she should watch out for. Sol could hold her own even if most of the time she didn’t want to. 

An owl hooted in the dead of the moonless night. This was the time he usually left—he was as much as a night creature as the owl outside—the right time for beginning a journey, never mind the undesirables that could be lurking in the shadows. Asra could hold his own, too, better than Sol knew. 

“Here…” she felt his hand on hers; his touch felt like clouds. It was such a familiar feeling. Sol was certain she knew every bit of him although she had never actually seen him. She knew the temperature of his body, the softness of his skin, the smell of his hair, the sound of his voice—so well, she suspected she could find him in any crowd. He gently pulled her arm forward, opened her palm and placed something there. “Take this. For you to play around with while I’m gone.”

Hmmm. A gift. This was definitely not good. If he was giving her something, it meant he was trying to appease himself, which meant he felt guilty for something. Was it leaving that gave him this heavy feeling? He should know by now that she would survive without him. She had to. 

Whatever she held in her hands pulsated with magic, and not just any magic, his magic. With a simple brush of her fingers, Sol knew what it was before he told her. 

“My tarot deck.” Yes. In Asra’s little shop of oddities, there was nothing as powerful—and as terrifying perhaps—as this deck of cards. Sol didn’t know who it had belong to before it’d been given to him—his refusal to disclose that made up one of the many mysteries Sol was so fond of—carried a strong, eerie presence that made her hair stood on end everything she felt the cards nearby. 

She quirked an eyebrow. “You think I want your creepy deck?” Annoyance was building in her stomach. He could laugh all he wanted. What should he give them away? And to her? She didn’t want the cards anymore than he wanted to part with them. 

“Scared of them, still?” he mused and Sol couldn’t help thinking he felt pleased by that. “You’re really something. I’ll hide the cards if you wish. But first…” he brushed her cheek with his thumb, “humor me. Read my fortune, Sol. Just for fun.” 

There was no such thing as ‘just for fun’ when it came to Asra. He could be kind and distant, smart and obtuse, perceptive and blind, but never fun when he could be serious. The fact that he was using such a unbelievable article to convince her meant he was distracted, nervous. 

He must have seen something in her face because he added, “This isn’t a test. I promise.” 

Well, if this wasn’t a test, it meant that it positively was. “No? You think I’m ready? For this amount of… of power?” 

There was a moment of silence as he considered that. “I can’t tell you that,” he said softly. That was his standard answer when he didn’t want to tell her something. Usually, Sol wasn’t opposed to secrets. Everyone had the right to them. It was just harder to respect it when they were about her. “You’ve made incredible progress, but you still won’t let go of your doubt.”

Doubt. That was a funny word. It carried the weight of the omnipresent feeling that Sol couldn’t quite shake. The doubt of having heard right. The doubt of what she could identify by smell. The doubt of ever being alone. The doubt of a hundred different things she couldn’t be certain of because she couldn’t see them. There was never, however, the doubt of feelings. And that’s what made this so hard. Because she knew of her reasons, and of her doubts, even if he didn’t. To accept his magical cards—something he had never parted with before—would be to accept that maybe, this time, he wasn’t coming back. And Sol couldn’t stand that. 

“If that is something you truly need an answer for, how about you ask the cards?” Despite her reservations, she heard him pull the curtain which led to the backroom. “After you,” he said, his voice farther away. 

Sol sighed and followed him. She didn’t need eyes to navigate Asra’s shop anymore, and it wasn’t just the energy that emanated from the many objects that guided her. Every nook and cranny was as familiar to her as its owner. She knew how many steps she needed to get from anywhere to everywhere. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve practiced,” Asra was saying as she took her sit across from him. He sounded remorseful which was an unusual mood for him. He’d rather sugar coat his emotions around her. 

“Because you’re never here?” The words come out as if they have a life of their own and her tone made it sound way more accusatory than she felt. It wasn’t in her nature to point fingers. There was just something off about tonight, something she felt he should be telling her because it was coming whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t protect her from fate anymore than she could drink fire. 

It took him a moment to answer and when he did, he sounded more like himself, trying to mask his true feelings. “Maybe. Someday you’ll find a real teacher, Sol…” His fingers are scratching the fabric draped over the table. “But since I have a few minutes to spare, let’s see how powerful you’ve become without me.” 

He was always going on about how ‘powerful’ and ‘gifted’ she was, which only reinforced her theory that perhaps Asra was as blind as she was when it came to certain things. Because if someone as perceptive as he couldn’t see the blubbering, clumsy mess she was than she was forever safe from mockery and jests. 

She heard a low murmur from Asra and then something brushed along her ankle, smooth and cool. “We’re not alone,” he said unnecessarily. Faust’s presence was easily identifiable by now. Her aura told Sol she was pleased to see her. The sentiment was mutual. The snake was her constant, and only, companion when Asra was gone. “If we’re all here, let’s begin.” Asra sounded eager, almost as if he had something to prove. 

Sol closed her eyes and started shuffling the deck, feeling a little hesitant as the cards slipped through her fingers. They were so alive in her hands it made her dizzy. When she was done, she pulled the first card with her right hand and placed it over the table, between them, face up. The little voice in her head whispered its name… the High Priestess. 

“What is she telling you?” he pressed. Sol could feel him leaning closer, expectant. Why was this so important to him? “Is she speaking to you now?” 

When the cards spoke to Sol it wasn’t in any human tongue. The words came like a feeling, intuition, from somewhere she couldn’t identify, deep in her gut. “You’ve forsaken her,” she said was surprised to notice that her voice was no more than a whisper. 

“I have?” Asra asked in the same volume. 

“Yes.” An image formed in her mind—Asra, in a garden, the smell of pine and wood, and someone there with him, the touch of silk on bare skin, long hair and ringing jewelry. “You’ve pushed her away and buried her voice. She calls out to you, but you won’t listen.” The image turned dark and heavy—a warning. “Master, if you don’t listen to her…” 

A sharp knocking startled the three of them. Sol felt a shiver down her spine. Whoever it was, so late at night, had arrived at the same time as the warning from the cards. 

Asra’s breathing was louder. “I can’t stay any longer,” he said suddenly, standing up. Sol stood up as well. The warning still weighed in her mind making her anxious. Someone was still knocking on the door and Asra was running away like it was the devil. 

“Wait—”

She felt his hand on hers again and then his lips as he pressed a kiss to it. “You’ll be fine, Sol dear. You always are.”

For a second, Sol considered grabbing his hand, throwing him on the ground and pinning him to stop him from leaving. It was silly, but the cards had scared her. Before she could move, however, the moment was over and Asra’s hand was no longer on hers. 

“Ah, I almost forgot,” he said from somewhere to her left. “You wanted the cards hidden, didn’t you?” He moved lightly, footsteps barely making any sound. “There. It’s done. You can always find them if you need it.”

She felt so alone already. 

Asra hesitated, as if he still had something to say, but Sol knew he wouldn’t say it. Pragmatic, he didn’t much care about feelings—or tried not to care. He had to leave, so he would leave. 

“Until we meet again,” she heard him say, but it sounded so far away Sol wondered if she hadn’t imagined. She heard him part the curtains and slip out the back door, which meant whoever it was knocking on the front door, he wanted to avoid at all costs. 

The only sound left in the room was her own breathing and the insistent knocking on the door. Sol tried to calm herself. It couldn’t possibly be anyone dangerous or Asra wouldn’t have left her alone to deal with it. Still, a feeling of dread still lingered above her head. Sol wondered if it wasn’t a conversation she, too, wished to avoid. 

Yes, well, if Asra could avoid it, so could she. Sol walked to the front of the shop, a hand stretched before her, until she found the door and locked it. Whoever it was could come back tomorrow. 

Or not… The knocking became a pounding so hard Sol thought it might knock the door down. She backed away, slightly, considering what would be the right course of action in this situation when a tremulous, feminine voice called from outside: “I’m not leaving, magician!” 

Something about that voice made Sol’s mind for her. It sounded so raw and exhausted, bearing on desperation. It wasn’t a threat. Someone needed her help. Sol unlocked the door and pulled it open to immediately regret it. Whoever it was advanced on her, the noise of silk skirts and jewelry making Sol’s mouth drop. It felt just like the vision she’d had. The High Priestess. The strong smell of rosemary and lemons took over the room even if the draft that came from the cold night. 

“I will not suffer another sleepless night,” a rich, authoritative voice said. “You must read the cards for me. It has to be you.” 

At the sound of that, Sol’s heart leapt into her throat. She knew that voice. There had been a public announcement a few days ago, celebrating her awakening from her deep slumbering—the Countess. 

Now why would the Countess of Vesuvia want a reading in the middle of the night from the blind apprentice? It made absolutely no sense at all. 

“I… I think you’ve come to the wrong place,” Sol stuttered. 

“Spare your breath, magician,” she said poignantly. “This is the place. I know it. I’ve seen it before.” Sol froze in place as the Countess went around her, circling like a vulture. “These walls… These wares… And you.” She stopped in front of Sol again. “Though you were no liar in my dream.” 

Ouch. That felt like a slap in the face. Sol stumbled backwards and would’ve fallen if the Countess hadn’t grabbed her wrist. The touch was warm like fire and it quickly spread through Sol’s skin until it reached her cheeks. “D-Dream?” she stammered again, trying to escape from the Countess fiery grasp. 

“Yes. An unwelcome ability I have come to possess,” the woman answered, letting go of Sol’s wrist. “My dreams are haunted by visions of a future waiting to unfold. But the future I saw, the one that brought me to you…” her voice faltered, “...is one I will not allow to pass. Tell me, magician, will you hear my proposal?” 

“Proposal?” Sol knew she must look like a fool, repeating the Countess’ words like parrot, but she couldn’t help it. This was a most unexpected conversation. 

“Not very talkative, are you?” It sounded like she was enjoying Sol’s discomfort. “Nervous, perhaps?” Sol couldn’t imagine someone that wouldn’t be nervous in her position. “I am no stranger to the rumors about me,” the Countess said. “That I am a tyrant. That I loathe your type, magician. But know this: I mean you no harm. If you accept my proposal you will be rewarded handsomely.” She paused for a second to gather her thoughts. “I require very little of you. Be my guest at the palace for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course,” she added and Sol knew that she meant Sol would get ‘help’ if she needed. Not very complimentary. “It is as my dream foretold,” she continued. “You need only to bring your skill… and the arcana.”

The arcana… where had Sol heard that before? Fruit of knowledge… fate… to the cards... the Arcana is the means… It sounded like a distant lullaby to her ears, something she should know, but couldn’t quite remember. How did it go? 

“I am at a loss, Countess,” she said, hoping her ignorance would perhaps change the Countess’ mind and she would leave. 

She had other reasons, too. The palace was ‘forbidden grounds’. It was home to nobles and mysteries alike, a place filled with vile people and corruption and murder. Asra had made Sol promise a dozen times to never set foot there. 

“The arcana,” the Countess clarified, and although Sol wanted to hear about that, it was not what she had referred to. “The cards. You haven’t heard their true name? I was told you read them well, but I wonder if you truly know them.”

The doubt that invaded her voice now reminded Sol of her earlier musings. It was one thing to doubt yourself. To have an entitled stranger do it was somehow unacceptable. 

“Show me, magician,” she demanded. “I wish to judge with my own eyes—these rumor talents of yours.” 

Just like that, a sweat broke out along Sol’s brow. She was angry. It felt like a duty to prove to this woman what she could do—what Asra’s apprentice could do. But at the same time, she had hoped the Countess wouldn’t ask. After all, Asra had hid the cards before he had left. 

Chin up, Sol tried to distract her. “And I don’t know if I believe these dreams of yours.” 

The Countess was peeved. “Must we do this? I don’t have all night, magician.” 

So there was no distracting her. Sol made a mental note of that. What now? She couldn’t possibly go around blindly looking for Asra’s deck when she had no idea where—

She felt the weight of something in her trouser’s pocket. Oh, Asra, you sly fox. Of course. He had put a spell on the deck so that it would appear when Sol needed it. Very clever. Knowing him, Sol should’ve anticipated it. She reached into her back pocket and felt the familiar edges greet her fingertips. 

“Now, shall we begin?” Without further ado, the Countess strode past Sol toward the back room. Sol was left with no choice. 

When they were both sitting across each other, Sol started to shuffled the cards while the impatient Countess tapped her fingernails on the table. Sol wished she would stop that. It was awfully distracting. 

What if she couldn’t do a reading? What then? What would the Countess do to her? Would she just leave? Sol took a deep breath. She needed to remain calm. She could do this. Doubting her power was giving power to her doubts. 

Sol pulled the top card and was immediately granted a vision. There was a fox running in an open garden. An owl watched the fox from a tree. There was a fountain, the sound of running water. The sun burned brightly. There was something written on the trunk of the tree, but before Sol could look at it with her inner eye, the image dissipated. 

“...The Magician,” she revealed the name of the card to the Countess. 

“How very appropriate,” she mused and Sol felt she was studying her face. She flushed. “What does he hold for me?” 

Sol’s mind was clear. The answer came to her as easily as having someone whisper it in her ear. “You have a plan.” She felt the Countess shuffle on her sit. “One that’s long in the making. Years upon years. Now you seek to set it in motion.” 

Something changed in the Countess’ voice when she asked, “And? Should I move?” She sounded almost as eager as Asra had during his reading. 

Sol felt the weight of her stare. “Yes,” she told her. “Act now. Everything has fallen into place. You—”

“Say no more.” The sharpness was back. She stood up, pushing the chair back abruptly. “Your fortunes are simple. Much the same as the others I’ve heard. And yet… you are the first to pique my interest.” 

Sol let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She heard the Countess throw back the curtains, striding purposefully back into the shop proper. By the time Sol emerged, the Countess had already crossed the threshold into the air of the night. 

“May I await you tomorrow, magician?” 

She was giving Sol a choice. It wasn’t much of a choice, but it was polite enough to ease any hostile feelings Sol had been harboring. 

Sol considered what she was being offered. The palace, the richness, the chance to prove herself as more than Asra’s apprentice. This time she would get to be the magician. The idea was exhilarating. There wasn’t much Sol could do out in the world. But maybe—just maybe—she’d be just enough for this. 

“You may,” she breathed. 

“You have chosen wisely, magician.” Sol could hear the small hint of a smile in her voice. “I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow. Until then... Rest well.” Sol was already waving goodbye when she heard the Countess say, “And do try not to pout.” 

With that she slammed the door. 

Sol bit her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest. What an outrageous night. What could the Countess want with her? And why now? How did it fit with the warning she’d given Asra? 

“How very weird,” Sol muttered to the empty shop. She was convinced nothing else could happen tonight as to surprise her—

“Strange hours for a shop to keep.” 

A gasp tore from Sol’s throat. She circled around herself not sure where the sound had come from. “Who said that?” It was a man’s voice, muffled but still loud in the silence of the night, but it wasn’t a voice she recognized which meant she was going to have to use her other talents to identify the speaker. 

“...Behind you.” 

Sol turned. Her gaze darted around the shop, chasing shadows she wouldn’t get to see. Focusing on his energy, she felt his height, the smell of leather and coffee and wolfsbane,  
and the gloomy melancholy of his aura. It felt somehow familiar. 

“You…” the voice hesitated. “You can’t see.”

Very deductive. 

“Interesting.” There was movement, the squeal of leather, and his voice turned clear as he removed something from his face—a mask perhaps. “No need for this, I suppose. Now, sources say this is the witch’s lair. So who might you be?”

Sol’s heart was beating really fast. How had he gotten in? What did he want? Who was he? Until she could think of something, Sol decided to play for time. “W-Wh-Who’s asking?” Her words were almost too low to be heard, but it seemed to give the stranger pause. 

“I’m asking,” he said and he sounded amused. “I’d rather not do it again.” 

Was she being charmingly threatened in her own shop? 

“But if it’ll make you talk…” he continued, “...Doctor Julian Devorak.” 

Sol’s heart skipped a beat. Oh my stars. Could it really be? It certainly explained why his aura felt somewhat familiar. She knew him—or rather of him. 

“Well, I can tell by the look on your face. Shock. Horror. You know who I am, don’t you?”

The whole of Vesuvia did. He had once supposedly been a great physician, before he became the most wanted man in town—a murderer, on the run. What could he possibly be doing here tonight? And why?

Sol tried to keep it together. If he was going to kill her, he would’ve done it already. No, he had come for answers and while she kept them from him, she was safe. She just needed to play her cards right, no pun intended. She let out a shaky breath and tried to sound nonchalant. “Of course. Although you’re exaggerating your own importance. Shock, oh yes, definitely. But horror? Unless you plan to set me on fire, I’ve none to give.” 

There was a moment of silence and then a burst of laughter. “Haven’t heard a good one like that in years,” he muttered. Then he was back to business. “Quick now. Where is the witch?”

“I’ll never talk.” Asra would’ve probably scolded her for that. 

“Mm. Where did I hear that one before? Come now, I thought we could keep things civil.” 

Sol was quiet. Intimidation would get him nowhere with her. 

“Well, if you won’t tell me where he is…” He reached out and grabbed her shoulders. Sol jumped at the touch. In fact, she almost screamed. It felt like a lightning bolt down her spine, raising every single hair on her body. The air around her grew colder and she thought her legs would give out from under her. It was pure energy pouring out of his fingertips through the thick leather of his gloves, through the fabric of her shirt. Sol had never felt anything like it. And apparently, she was the only one who felt it, because he continued his speech as if nothing had happened. “Won’t you at least tell my fortune?” 

Sol wondered if she had drunk crazy leaves. What was up with tonight? Had she even gotten out of bed at all? It seemed more unlikely with every moment. “I… uh… What?”

His hands left her shoulders and her mind seemed to clear. “That is what that room in the back is for, isn’t it?” Sol gave him a hesitant nod, unsure of the motives for his odd request. “After you, then.” 

He must have gestured or something, she assumed. People were always gesticulating around her, forgetting she couldn’t know. So this was it, Sol thought. This could very likely be the last reading of her life, if she cared to do it. Perchance it would get him to leave? That gave her enough hope to make her move her feet.

The doctor dropped himself into the reading chair, looming over the table. “Lovely decor. Reminds me of the good old days.” 

Hesitantly, Sol took her sit there for what she hoped would be the last time tonight. Or ever. She felt chilly and supposed his eyes were to blame. She could feel his stare and somehow she knew it was cold. 

“Go on,” he urged. “No need to be shy.” 

She shuffled the cards a little too aggressively, eager to get this over with and pulled the first one. The vision was different this time. Darker. Heavier. Claustrophobic. The stink of blood in the air. Sweat and blood. A man with red hair. And fire. Fire everywh—

He took the card from her hand, breaking the vision, so he could look at it. Sol’s mind was racing. She couldn’t think of single thing to say. Blood pounded in her ears. 

“Death?” His voice was low, incredulous. “Death?” he said again, sneering this time. Then he barked with uncontrollable laughter, sharp as ice. “You’ve got to be joking.” 

Sol jolted as his hands striked the table. 

Devorak rose to his feet. “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away,” he snarled. “She has no interest in an abomination like me.” 

Overcome with confusion, Sol was frozen on her sit listening to the doctor as he paced around the room, murmuring to himself about death, curses and where the bloody hell the witch was. 

“He’s gone,” Sol told him, surprising the both of them. She honestly just wanted him to leave by now. If telling him the truth would get him out of there, then that’s what she would do. The doctor stopped pacing and was likely looking at her. “I don’t know where. He didn’t tell me.” 

“Is that so?” He was silent for what felt like an eternity. When he next spoke, he sounded calmer. “You’ve been hospitable, so I’ll let you in on a secret. Your witch friend will be back for you. He’s taught you his tricks. You may even say he cares for you. But when he returns...” There was a dramatic pause in which Sol assumed he put his mask back on because his voice was muffled again when he completed the thought. “...seek me out. For your own sake. That creature is far more dangerous than you know.”

Creature? He couldn’t possibly be talking about Asra… could he? There was nothing dangerous about Asra. There had never been. And yet… Sincerity rang in the doctor’s every word, enough to leave the bitter taste of doubt in her mouth. 

“Well, then,” he said. “The hour is late, and I’m out of time. Don’t let him fool you, shopkeep.” And with that last warning, he disappeared into the night.


End file.
